espectable folks and
I think that is something worth being proud of.

But Uncle Abimelech pinned his family pride to Roger de Melville. He
had the Melville coat of arms and our family tree, made out by an
eminent genealogist, framed and hung up in his library, and he would
not have done anything that would not have chimed in with that coat of
arms and a conquering ancestor for the world.

At the end of a week I got an answer to my letter. It was what I
wanted. I wrote again and sent a parcel. In three weeks' time the
storm burst.

One day I saw Uncle Abimelech striding up the lane. He had a big
newspaper clutched in his hand. I turned to Murray, who was poring
over a book of anatomy in the corner.

"Murray, Uncle Abimelech is coming. There is going to be a battle
royal between us. Allow me to remind you of your promise."

"To lie low and say nothing? That's the cue, isn't it, sis?"

"Unless Uncle Abimelech appeals to you. In that case you are to back
me up."

Then Uncle Abimelech stalked in. He was purple with rage. Old Roger de
Melville himself never could have looked fiercer. I _did_ feel a quake
or two, but I faced Uncle Abimelech undauntedly. No use in having your
name on the roll of Battle Abbey if you can't stand your ground.

"Prudence, what does this mean?" thundered Uncle Abimelech, as he
flung the newspaper down on the table. Murray got up and peered over.
Then he whistled. He started to say something but remembered just in
time and stopped. But he did give me a black look. Murray has a
sneaking pride of name too, although he won't own up to it and laughs
at Uncle Abimelech.

I looked at the paper and began to laugh. We did look so funny, Murray
and I, in that advertisement. It took up the whole page. At the top
were our photos, half life-size, and underneath our names and
addresses printed out in full. Below was the letter I had written to
the Alloway Anodyne Liniment folks. It was a florid testimonial to the
virtues of their liniment. I said that it had cured Murray's sprain
after all other remedies had failed and that, when I had been left a
partial wreck from a very bad attack of rheumatic fever, the only
thing that restored my joints and muscles to working order was
Alloway's Anodyne Liniment, and so on.

It was all true enough, although I dare say old Aunt
Sarah-from-the-Hollow's rubbing had as much to do with the cures as
the liniment. But that is neither here nor there.

"What does this